The Case of the Three Table Legs
by Eyebrows2
Summary: Watson has made an error he is particularly keen to conceal from Holmes. Can he possibly succeed? COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Messed up chemistry

**The Case of the Three Table Legs**

**Chapter 1: Messed up chemistry**

What a beautiful shade of blue. Cerulean, I think it was called.

I bent over to inspect the retort, simmering gently over Holmes' little Bunsen burner. The liquid within was iridescent, almost that shade when the sun catches the Cornish sea on a hot day. Thankfully, the smell was not unpleasant either.

Quite an attractive product, considering the foul temper it had been brewed in. Holmes had sat over this infernal apparatus for four days, rarely sleeping, and growling like a bear with a sore head, back, stomach, legs, arms and big toe whenever he was spoken to. I had initially attempted to engage him in a modicum of civilised conversation, as sharing a flat with a living chemistry set was tedious in the extreme, but had given that up when he abused my parentage, my intellect and my physical appearance in a fluent and explosive tirade.

My medical instincts had prompted me to be a little more persistent regarding prompting Holmes to eat. He had not actually thrown anything at me, but his fingers had twitched convulsively, and I knew he was considering it.

I had not the faintest idea what this concoction was that it required such an extraordinary degree of effort, but I had hopes my tribulations were nearing an end. Holmes had gone out, and left this pretty blue jar, the only discernible result of his labours, temporarily unattended. He must have passed the critical point. Perhaps I would get my more bearable incarnation of my room-mate back.

I do not know why I did it. It was no more than a mannerism or nervous tick. I reached over, and gently tapped the side of the retort, to elicit a pure, soft ringing sound. As I withdrew my arm, my sleeve caught upon a hook on the tripod upon which the retort stood. In slow motion, I watched the apparatus begin to topple. My instinct in any mishap involving Holmes' experimentation is to leap promptly out of the way, and I obeyed it here. I then helplessly watched the retort with its shimmering blue liquid shatter against the desk, whilst the liquid itself cascaded artistically onto the desk and floor.

* * *

_Argh! What a mistake! Something tells me this may overset Watson's composure a little. More in Chapter 2._

_Please read and review – always appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2: Wonderful Woodworm

**The Case of the Three Table Legs**

**Chapter 2: Wonderful Woodworm**

For a moment, I could only stare, numb with horror at this scene of devastation. Then I panicked. Holmes had been working on this infernal concoction for four days, and, as it neared completion, I had ruined it with spectacularly blundering effect!

The next thought to race through my brain was not to my credit:

"_Holmes must never know it was I_!"

My conscience reared up for a instant, and sternly charged me to confess my iniquity to Holmes, but I frantically overruled it – unthinkable! The man's wrath would be terrible to behold. I must even confess I toyed with the ignominious scheme of bribing an Irregular to take the blame, and it was as much my conviction that Holmes would see through the deception as my virtue that dissuaded me.

Could I replace the fluid in the glass? Absinthe, plus a little blue ink, possibly? No, absurd! Holmes would discover the substitution immediately. Oh, Lord, if he didn't spot my switch, what lives may hang in the balance, what scientific discoveries may be misrepresented? No, it would have to be faced, Holmes would and should discover the destruction of the experiment if I attempted to conceal it.

At this point, a less involved party could only have found my perambulations around the room enormously comical, but I saw no humour in the situation at all. I darted backwards and forwards across the room, sometimes reaching to tidy the apparatus, then flinching away, then heading for the door.

Yes, the door! I would take myself off until the storm had blown over. I would write Holmes a note, apologising and explaining, then get upon a train, and stay in a hotel for a few... days? Weeks? I would need funds, and my chequebook was locked in the desk drawer. I could prise the lock. No, ridiculous. Besides, I suspected Holmes would find me. I would have to think of a better scheme.

How could I make the accident appear an accident for which I was entirely blameless? The idea struck me so suddenly that my breath was almost taken away by my own genius. The desk must have collapsed! Woodworm! God Bless the wonderful woodworm!

In the storeroom above my bedroom was this duplicate desk, awaiting an appropriate opportunity to dispose of it, as it was riddled with the noble parasite. I raced upstairs and into the attic. I inspected the legs. The liquid had spilt towards the front left hand side. I inspected the corresponding leg, and to my joy, I beheld that it was completely unsound. All the legs were completely unsound, as a matter of fact. I would only have to be cautious that I did not break the thing in the removal of it. It must be broken in the correct manner, that it would appear to have suddenly snapped, propelling the contents of the table to the floor.

I used my penknife to unscrew the leg, wincing as I drove a large splinter under my fingernail, and stubbornly ignoring the sneering voice inside my head, mocking me for a dolt. With my prize in hand, I raced down to the living room, and crawled under the desk. Rapidly, I unscrewed the sound leg, and replaced it with the unsound one. Carefully, I then snapped the leg where I judged it must cause a wobble, and stepped back judiciously to survey my handiwork. Just to be safe, I took the sound leg back upstairs, and reattached it to the rotten table. I broke my penknife in the process, and cursed. I rotated the table, so the sound leg stood next to the wall. I returned to the sitting room.

I then poured myself a large brandy, to steady my nerves, and ready myself for the difficult task of lying through my teeth to Holmes. I carefully cleared up the apparatus, placing it on the dining room table. What else would I usually do, had I really been sitting here peacefully when the experiment collapsed? I placed my book open on my chair arm, careful to advance it beyond the point I had reached when Holmes was in the room earlier.

A good room-mate would replace the leg, of course. An even better idea struck me. I jogged down the seventeen steps to the street, opened the door, and whistled. Morgan, one of Holmes' Irregulars shuffled up to me, nonchalantly concealing his eagerness to be given a job.

"Morgan, the desk in our rooms has broken. Woodworm in one of the legs. Doesn't Charlie's brother do a bit of carpentry?"

The child looked a little disappointed at so mundane an engagement, but he brightened at the sight of the half-crown I offered him to run my errand.

I returned to the sitting room, and checked my watch. Holmes must be returning soon, if he had left the Bunsen burner alight.

Holmes arrived back with perfect timing. Charlie's brother Bob was just reattaching a new leg to our table, and the old one lay broken and rotten upon the carpet.

I rose to my feet, my mouth dry, as he took in the scene.

* * *

_Oh dear. Watson, what a tangled web. Will Holmes be fooled? Find out in chapter 3!_


	3. Chapter 3: Goulash to ashes

**The Case of the Three Table Legs**

**Chapter 3: Goulash to ashes  
**

Pulling myself together, I approached the thwarted chemist, palms outstretched, and a sympathetic expression arranged carefully upon my face.

"Holmes, old chap, I'm most terribly sorry to have to break it to you, but the desk collapsed while you were out. When I inspected the chair leg, it was riddled with parasite. I'm afraid your precious experiment has been completely ruined. If there is anything at all I can do to help, please let me know."

Holmes stared at the desk, then at his chemistry apparatus stacked upon the dining table, then at the broken leg, then at me. I held my breath, trying not to appear to be watching him intently.

Then, Sherlock Holmes gave his dry, crack of a laugh.

"Ah, well, Watson. You could say it was perfect timing. A day earlier, and I must have been distraught, but this little catastrophe comes rather too late too upset me."

"It does?"

"Yes. The experiment is a failure, Watson. The reagent is completely useless. I have checked my facts, and now I know there was nothing for it but to scrap the entire project anyway. At least it was no vital piece of research, but only a scientific curiosity."

I opened and closed my mouth, still keeping a guard upon my expression. For a moment, I almost confessed my duplicity to Holmes. Then, I decided against it.

"Well, most unfortunate the experiment was a failure after all the work you have put in, but what a relief that all is not ruined." My voice seemed to be coming from far away. _Half-a-crown for Morgan, four shillings for the repair work, a broken pen-knife, a painful splinter down my fingernail, and a set of shattered nerves. All for nothing! Thus, I reap my reward._

Holmes was looking at me narrowly.

"Are you alright, Watson? You look somewhat flushed."

"I'm fine Holmes. Absolutely fine."

"I am pleased to hear it." Holmes suddenly flashed me the grin I had missed so much. "It is no thanks to me and my antisocial behaviour, I am certain. I have been a boar to you this last week. Will you allow me to make it up you and take you out for dinner at Simpsons?"

My guilty conscience stabbed at me afresh, but I still had not the courage for the confession.

"That sounds marvellous, Holmes. I need to get out of the house."

However, I did not enjoy my meal that evening. My nagging and burdened conscience turned the succulent stew to ashes in my mouth.

* * *

_Despite Holmes' intolerable behaviour, I think Watson probably deserves his discomfiture now! However, I love making Watson not always the saintly one. There is more, it will follow in Chapter 4._


	4. Chapter 4: Not a natural dissembler

**The Case of the Three Table Legs**

**Chapter 4: Not a Natural Dissembler**

Of course, Holmes and I soon regained our usual habits of intercourse. A new and stimulating case rescued the detective from his dreaded mental stagnation, and I joined him with enthusiasm, glad to pay off my secret debt. Perhaps some day I shall set down for publication the events of the trained canaries and the mismatched shoes. It was certainly a case that allowed my friend to exercise his particular gifts of rational deduction.

Some weeks later, we were sharing a quiet pipe by the fire. Holmes sighed with contentment.

"Life has a habit of improving, friend Watson. Perhaps, whilst my disposition is still relatively sunny, I shall reattempt the precipitation of the copper agate, and will manage to be somewhat less intolerable to my long-suffering room-mate than the last time."

"Which experiment is that Holmes?"

"Oh, you should remember. It is a very important little piece of research, which should enable us to discover with far greater precision the timing of poison administration. I had almost completed it the last time I undertook it, but suffered a set-back. It was the self-same experiment which you knocked over, then attempted to blame on a rotten table-leg."

I froze in my chair. Holmes was regarding me with twinkling eyes.

"You _knew?_ When did you find out?"

"Oh, as soon as you told me the desk had broken."

"_What?_"

Holmes threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, Watson, you really are not a natural dissembler. As soon as I saw your innocent expression, the soot-mark on the tripod wiped clean, and a corresponding mark upon your cuff, I deduced what must have happened. Add to that the dusty knees to your trousers, the splinter under the fingernail, and the fact that, yes, despite the legs being well concealed by the desk top, I of course knew they were not rotten. I am not such an amateur as to practice dangerous experiments on an unsound surface."

"Yet you said nothing?" I was caught between mortification, shame and indignation.

"The fact that my usually upstanding partner was so cowed by my formidable temper as to attempt this little pantomime was enough to display to me, in no uncertain terms, what an ogre I had been to him as late. I felt the obligation to make amends was more on my side that his, and that I had best not add to his agonies by revealing what a very important piece of work it was that he had inadvertently destroyed.. Although, of course, I could not _entirely_ allow you to escape scot-free after such a deception. I felt your noble conscience would castigate you enough in the circumstances."

"Well.... I really am very sorry for my clumsiness, Holmes. And my deceit." Holmes only grinned, and his merriment was infectious. Despite myself, I started to chuckle. Holmes joined in, and soon the pair of us were howling with laughter, until the tears streamed down our faces. I rose to my feet, and clasped him warmly by the hand.

"If you are to undertake the experiment again, I must insist you eat from time to time."

"Understood, Doctor. I shall also undertake to say at least three civil words to you a day."

"That would be appreciated. Now, I am not so naïve as to believe your diet will be fully up to my expected standards, so I propose a hearty meal before we begin. I believe the last meal of your providing was marred by false pretences. Let us dine out again tonight, your choosing, my treat."

"Agreed. One further condition?"

"Name it."

"Pray do not approach within a yard of my desk for the next four days."

"Done!"

Arm in arm, and upon the best of good terms, Sherlock Holmes and I descended our seventeen stairs, and stepped out into the street.

************_THE END_*************

_Ah! See, it all worked out well in the end. Watson should know nobody can deceive Holmes for long!_

_Thanks for all the lovely reviews everybody. "Duh duh duh" and "Oh no! Poor Blue Liquid" were two that really made me laugh. Sorry this update took a while. For some reason, my document manager has been sulking and refusing to upload anything for five days, and now has inexplicably started working again. I don't understand computers!_

_Well done to all of you who guessed that Holmes was just playing along. We all have to have a hapless Watson fic now and then - although he's getting better.  
_

_Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, further reviews are always appreciated...  
_


End file.
